Faithful Servant
by nurdgurl714
Summary: Slash! 1536-1540. The height of Cromwell's power, and the most perilous. How will Henry force his most faithful servant to prove his devotion? Is there a rival for his spot under the king? Warning: Slash! Extreme content in later chapters!
1. The Law

**Disclaimer: Is that necessary? I'm sure we all know that **_**The Tudors**_** is the brilliant work of Michael Hirst and Showtime.**

**Setting: Season three of **_**The Tudors,**_** main events focused on here will be the Pilgrimage of Grace and the marriage to Anne of Cleves.**

_**May, 1536**_

Henry studied the lengthy comprehensive report that Cromwell had presented him. He paused at the part detailing the relationship between George Boleyn and Mark Smeaton.

"Ah," Henry said, raising his eyebrows. "This is interesting."

"Majesty?" Cromwell inquired.

"This _dalliance_ between Smeaton and Rochford. They could be hanged for buggery alone, never mind their other crimes, eh Cromwell?"

"Yes, your majesty. According to the buggery law-"

"One of your own invention," Henry countered, smiling. "Not inspired by me in any way."

"Yes, your majesty. The monks-"

"Ah yes, the monks. Never mind the monks now. They are paying for their sins. What do you think of this all?"

"Majesty?" Cromwell was confused. He had sought only to give the king the report and retreat, to draw up the warrant for Anne Boleyn for the king to sign. For some reason, Henry chose to detain him.

"You know this…sodomy. What is your opinion on this matter?"

Oh, God. What was Henry getting at? Personally, he didn't care who a man slept with, it was not his business, but to pacify the church and other members of council he had drafted the law. "The bible says if a man lay with a man as he would a woman it-"

"-is an abomination, I know. I am aware that you are as versed in scripture as some of our bishops. But do you suppose it is so wrong?"

_Damnit_. The king was baiting him. He had urgent business to do. Just look at that damned grin on his face; that irresistible grin that crinkled his eyes…

"Thomas? Did you hear the question?" Henry asked, his eyes still sparkling.

"Pardon me your majesty. But I try to live by the scriptures. If the Bible says that man should not lie with man than I shall not…" he trailed off. He had never been so familiar before. He blushed slightly.

"Oh look Tom, made you blush! Anyway, this is all well done. I am pleased with you, as I always am," the king winked at Cromwell and dismissed him.

Cromwell hurried out of the kings rooms, his face flushed. What was the king up to? That was the third peculiar conversation that he had with him over the past few years about the topic. Of course, there was the old gossip about Brandon, the duke of Suffolk and their old mates Compton and Knivert but he had never paid it any mind, just chalked it up as more Plantagenet slander. Now he wondered…

"Tom?" He had nearly run into Richard Rich, the solicitor general and friend from Cambridge. 'Richie,' he called him, a fellow lawyer from Gray's Inn and a friend of the true religion. Discreet, sharp, and ruthless; almost as much as he.

"Tom? Where have you been? I have been waiting for half an hour."

"Sorry, Richie. The king detained me on a part of the report."

"What part?"

Cromwell paused. How much should he tell Richie? Richie was discreet enough but Cromwell was embarrassed.

"I'll bet it was that part about Rochford and that musician. Disgusting."

It took all of Cromwell's practiced diplomacy not to give himself away. He merely nodded. "You know the king detests such practices."

Richie nodded. "Yes, and there is that old rumor that Buckingham started. You know the one about Suffolk and the others in his youth."

Again, Cromwell nodded. "The cardinal spoke of it once. But my lord, let it not leave this room. There is enough controversy as it is. I have gone through great pains to keep the report private."

"I understand. Now about the warrant…"

Henry sat back in his chair in front of the fire, smiling to himself. Cromwell was so fun to toy with. He had actually stammered and blushed; a rare occurrence in his principal minister. Henry was used to the calm and dignified man with a smooth voice and an efficiency that was unmatched, even in Wolsey. The son of a blacksmith and brewer; a mercenary soldier and banker in Italy and the low countries. Versed in more languages than he, a lawyer and as unscrupulous as they come, but always in Henry's best interest.

Henry liked that in a servant. He also liked Cromwell's blue-green eyes and thick curly hair. He liked his smooth voice and his long, lean frame. Henry had already been told of Smeaton's reputation and his getting on with his soon-to-be ex brother in law. But he didn't need that now. He had Jane. Sweet Jane, who would be his wife as soon as Cromwell disposed of that witch and her faction. No more dalliances with Charles and the others. Compton was dead, and Charles and Anthony were married.

_**October 1536**_

Sir Thomas Cromwell. Baron Cromwell. _Lord Privy Seal_. Cromwell ran down the list of all the honors and titles that he had received from the king for depositing two million pounds in his exchequer. He had to get used to people addressing him as 'My Lord' and 'Lord Privy Seal' instead of 'Master Secretary', which was now beneath him but he assumed the duties all the same, as the king had stated that he could not trust anyone else with the job. Not that he minded. Sixteen hour days did not bother him. Gregory was soon to be married to the Queen's sister and move out so there was no one at home anyway. He remembered Brandon glaring at him, ready to spit some venom on him for reasons unknown. He had never showed any antipathy towards Brandon, they had often been amiable, having to work together to get parliament to pass bills and get rid of Anne Boleyn. Oh well. As one drew closer to the king one was bound to make enemies, particularly since he was of 'low birth' as people, even Henry when he has in a temper, would point out to him.

"See this, my lord." Richie said, handing him a report. Richie had been promoted to chancellor for his part in getting rid of Anne and the dissolution of the monasteries. The report was from Cromwell's nephew, Richard. He stated that the north was in great unrest, and there is talk of a rebellion. _Rebellion_. That made both Cromwell and Richie uneasy. When subjects rebelled, they never rebelled against the king, for that would be treason. They rebelled against his policies, or the executors of his policies, hence where they came in.

"More unrest in the north?" Richie inquired, although he already knew the answer to that. "Will you go to the king?"

"Not just yet," Cromwell decided. "Perhaps it will die down."

Richie raised his eyebrow, but said nothing. Cromwell was grateful, for he didn't feel up to justifying himself at this time.

****Two days later****

"My Lord! My Lord!" A travel stained messenger burst through Cromwell's office where he and Richie were going over some figures.

"What is it?" Cromwell asked, his heart racing; for he feared the answer.

So the story spilled out. In the north, somewhere between twenty and forty thousand farmers, shepherds, shoemakers, and other peasants have risen up in protest to the dissolution of the monasteries. They had many demands; chief of the list was the execution of both he and Richie, and the burning of his friend Cranmer, the archbishop.

It is he who had to break the news to the king. Henry was in his privy chamber with the queen. When Cromwell entered, the king instantly knew that something was amiss. Henry sent Jane from the room. "What is it Tom?" There it was again. That familiarity. Oh well. Might as well get it over with. He took a deep sigh and broke the news.

Henry listened intently, studying his servant. He smelled the perfume of _fear._ It was intoxicating. As he stroked the hint of a beard that he had began growing and his striking blue eyes pierced Cromwell's soul he said nothing. Cromwell's stomach was doing flip flops. Henry's silence was even more terrifying than his rages.

"You said there was no opposition," Henry said softly, circling his minister. "You said the people wanted this. You were wrong." Cromwell held his breath.

"Knave!" Henry's hand came down hard on the back of Cromwell's neck. Henry yanked out a chair and shoved Cromwell into it. "Write." The king dictated a letter to Cromwell, demanding that they disperse and cease this behavior which was so 'contrary to God's law'. Cromwell left, pulling his collar up high to hide the mark that was surely there on the back of his stinging neck.

_**Three Days Later**_

The rebels remained obstinate. The King dispatched Suffolk and Shrewsbury to the North to put down the rebellion. Brandon was rapidly becoming the bane of his existence; constantly seeking to undermine him at every turn. But Brandon was no statesman. He had neither the wit nor the training to do what Cromwell did. And Cromwell's soldiering days were far behind him. Brandon had sent back to say that he was having trouble amassing troops and that Darcy was not able to hold Pontefract castle. Cromwell had other ideas. Darcy was from the North, and like many nobles, was playing both sides to see who would come out on top. Darcy was number one on the death list that Cromwell and Richie had drawn up. The king was ranting about the rebels and about Brandon's incompetence, which Cromwell couldn't object to. "…these rebels have threatened my whole realm. I have a mind to go North, lead the army myself. I'll teach these bastard ingrates a fearful, bloody, lesson in _slaughter!_" Henry roared in Cromwell's ear. Cromwell was sure that his heart was going to explode, it had been beating at the same constant rate for the past week. He was half-surprised that he wasn't dead.

Henry stormed from the room with him and Bryan trailing at his heels. It took little convincing for Henry to refrain from going north, as he was in no condition since his leg had flared up again. The king dismissed Bryan and he and Cromwell were alone.

"I've received a dispatch from Suffolk," Henry informed him. "He said the rebel forces far outnumber my own. He's been forced to concede to their demands for the time being."

"Concede?" Cromwell was shocked. The only person Henry ever conceded to was now lying headless in the chapel of St. Peter ad Vincula.

"Yes, concede. They've got me by my balls, Cromwell!" Henry was now standing beside him, facing the opposite direction. Cromwell felt Henry's hand creep up his leg. He froze. What the hell was the king doing? Henry's hand closed around his testicles like a vice. Cromwell let out a soft groan, almost inaudible and clenched his teeth tight.

"How does that feel Cromwell?" Henry's voice was venomous in his ear. Was this a rhetorical question? How the hell did he think it felt?

"Answer me knave!" Henry demanded, clamping his fist tighter around the precious sack.

"Uncomfortable…you majesty."

That was not the answer Henry wanted. "Uncomfortable, eh? How's this?" Henry squeezed so hard that Cromwell was sure that he would never be able to use them again. Waves of pain radiated out from the precious sack to his thighs, stomach and back. Yes, they were ruined. Wait, that was not so, he could feel his manhood stiffening. What the hell was going on?

Cromwell squeezed his eyes tight and clutched his portfolio so hard that his knuckles went white. He fought to keep the tears back that threatened to spill out of his eyes from the pain. "How's that?" The king jeered.

"P-p-painful, your majesty."

"How painful?" Henry wanted to know, squeezing harder.

"Excruciating…your…majesty…" Cromwell managed to choke out. Yes, his balls definitely ached, but so did his cock, which was rock hard and throbbing, growing harder at every insult hurled at him by the king.

"Exactly. Now you begin to know how hurt I am, and it's your fault! I swear to you Cromwell," Henry hissed in his ear. "I will have these balls in my fucking pocket if we don't crush this rebellion. Do you understand me?"

"Yes your majesty," Cromwell gasped.

"Good." Henry released his cajones and strode out of the room. Only then did Cromwell allow himself to sink to the ground, tears seeping from his closed eyelids.

**Ouch! Let's hope this rebellion can be quelled! But WHY did little Thomas…you know? And what does Charles have to do with all of this? Find out as **_**Faithful Servant**_** continues!**

**Historical facts: Cromwell did draft a law in 1533 called the 'Buggery Act' which made homosexuality and bestiality illegal and punishable by death. **

**His son, Gregory Cromwell married Jane Seymour's sister.**

**Richard Cromwell, Thomas's nephew by his sister Katherine (who changed his last name to Cromwell) was the great-grandfather of Oliver Cromwell, who served as Lord Protector during England's interregnum and played a major role in the execution of Charles I.**


	2. The Rebellion

**Previously on **_**Faithful Servant**_

**Henry and Cromwell have a somewhat awkward conversation about men laying with other men. The Pilgrimage of Grace starts, and Henry vents his wrath on Cromwell, or on his testicles, that is.**

Cromwell struggled to master himself on the cool, hard floor. What had happened here? Grabbing his testicles and crushing them? Just another way for the king to prove a point and humiliate his servant in the process. Though Cromwell was certain that the king had never crushed Wolsey's bollocks in his hands when he was displeased. The pain, even now, was excruciating. And he was still aroused. Painfully aroused, the type that would not abate on its own. Good thing he always wore black. Why was he aroused? Was it that deep down, the king's power over him actually…excited him?

Henry paced in his bedchamber, his anger abated somewhat. At least crushing Cromwell's balls while hearing him squeal and feeling him tremble improved his mood. Cromwell's threshold of pain was higher than he might have expected. But he shouldn't have been surprised. Cromwell was as tough as they came. Victim of an abusive father, mercenary soldier, and the mere fact that he was from Putney, though one would never guess by looking at him. But there was something else. Unless he was mistaken, and he was _not_ mistaken, Cromwell had a cock-stand back there. Yes, yes, he most certainly did, despite his whimpering and gasping at the pain, he liked it. _Next time I'll make sure,_ he thought. His hand crept down to his breeches, slipping into his hose to fondle his half erect member. He tried to fill his head with visions of sweet Jane, with her fair hair and delicate skin. But they were blocked out by thick, black, curly hair and blue-green eyes. Henry moaned in pleasure as he stroked his member faster and faster.

Francis Bryan inclined his head at his patron as he walked by, detecting a faint limp in his step. It wasn't surprising, considering what he had just witnessed. Curious as to why Henry detained Cromwell; he had remained at the door and peeked in a crack in the doorframe. What he saw made him want to collapse into a fit of hysterical laughter. Henry feeling up Cromwell's leg, crushing his bollocks and watching Cromwell wince and take it. His own balls ached in sympathy. And that look in Henry's eyes confirmed that the old rumors about him and Charles Brandon were true. So Henry was out to make Cromwell his new bitch, eh? No wonder Brandon hated him so much. _This will be interesting,_ Bryan thought.

Cromwell sent a page with a message to Richie that he would meet with him in an hour. In the safety of his apartments at Whitehall, he dipped a cloth in cool water and applied it to his aching jewels. Ahhh, that was much better. The cloth may have helped him solve one problem but not the other. He was still hopelessly aroused and would never be able to concentrate with such a distraction in his breeches so he did what any other man would do who found himself in such a state without a partner to spend his lust on. As he sought comfort with his hand, he thought back to the last time he had been intimate with anyone. It was almost ten years ago with his late wife. After she died, he gave up the pleasures of the flesh and focused on advancing his career, with the cardinal at the time and then the king after Wolsey fell from grace. He barely even thought of such carnal pleasures anymore. Unlike the king or Brandon, he was able to master his lust. But if that were so, why was he here, locked up in his bed chamber pleasuring himself like a naughty schoolboy? And worse yet, he was _enjoying _it. Suppressing the soft moans that escaped his lips was useless and no one was here to witness it after all. And the thoughts that filled his head could get him hanged, by the very law that he had written with the hand that was so now vigorously stroking his manhood. He was so close to climax, he could feel it. Images of his master in his mind, hurling insults at him, ordering him to do things, filthy things, expressly forbidden by the church; but were rampant in the French court, it was rumored that Anne Boleyn and her sister had used those very acts on the king…

It was here. Cromwell grabbed a pillow and buried his face in it, muffling his groans and whispers of his master's name. Oh god, it had been too, too long since he had released. He looked down at his hand, covered in the creamy essence of his long forgotten lust. As he cleaned up and left his chambers, he couldn't help but feel that an enormous burden had been lifted, particularly from between his legs. As he left his room and strode towards his office Francis Bryan noticed that he no longer walked with a limp.

The rest of the day went smoothly. Cromwell did as Henry commanded and wrote a letter to Brandon demanding that two captains come to court at once. They received the full list of the rebels' 'demands' which had sent the king into another fury of indignation. They wanted to be fully restored to the Catholic Church under the Pope, the Lady Mary legitimized and placed back into the succession, the immediate ceasing of the suppression of the monasteries and their restoration. They also 'demanded' that a parliament be held in the north to govern itself, as if the north was a separate kingdom. And lastly, and most preposterous in both he and the king's opinion, they demanded that he king immediately and dismiss those on his council who were 'not of noble blood'. Henry and Cromwell were indignant for two separate reasons; Henry because he would not be instructed on whom should advise him and Cromwell because these idiots were so brainwashed that they assumed that 'nobles' knew how to run this country. Nobles only knew how to look out for their own best interest. And some of the more empty-headed nobles like Brandon and Norfolk didn't even have the wit to do that. And they were both papists, he knew it. The king knew it too, and it was only a matter of time before the king chose to throw it in their faces. He and Richie sifted through information from his nephew and other agents in the north and added more names to their death list.

**Two Days Later**

Cromwell stood with Richie and Francis Bryan and listened to the king castigate two rebels, Sir Ralph Elleker and John Constable for this uprising. He studied them. Typical peasants; old, well worn clothes and grungy appearances. They reeked from horses and lack of proper hygiene, as was typical in the north, or so he had heard. But most offensive were the badges that they wore over their heart, the five wounds of Christ, the banner of this so called 'Pilgrimage of Grace'. More papist nonsense.

One of the wretches dared to interrupt the king. Cromwell leapt into action, berating Constable for daring to interrupt His Majesty. The look that Constable turned on him was of seething hatred, so contrary to the papist ideals they claimed to uphold. At the end of the king's speech; Elleker looked cowed but Constable still had a look of defiance in his eyes. Cromwell and Richie exchanged glances; both mentally adding Constable to their death list.

Later that evening, Cromwell wrote a dispatch that he was sure to fall into the enemy's hands. This mob wasn't just going to disperse at the king's command; but to be sure his enemies got their just deserts Cromwell made sure to give them proper cause to be suspicious. He also knew that Brandon met with them separately and was probably whispering poison into the king's ear about him.

**In the king's rooms**

"So what do you make of the rebellion, Charles?" Henry asked Brandon. "What do you make of their demands?"

"Your majesty, while I do not agree with their rebellion some of their concerns are-"

"Are what?" Henry snapped. "Justified? You think it is acceptable for simple peasants to rise up against me and make simple demands of me, their _king_?"

"Your majesty has misunderstood-"

"Oh, is that a fact Charles?" Henry snarled. "I know what this is about. This is about Cromwell isn't it? You're jealous, aren't you? I've got you all sorted, Charles. Anytime I show favor to someone other than yourself you can't' stand it, can you? That's what happened with Wolsey, and with Anne and now Cromwell. Well, let me tell you something Charles. Cromwell is diligent and hard-working, and has yet to fail to complete a task that I have given him, unlike yourself. I commanded you to go north and put down this so-called rebellion and you have not done so. Why is that, Charles?"

"Your majesty must forgive me-"

"Oh, here we go with that again! Save it Charles! You want to be forgiven? PROVE IT! Give me a reason not to banish you!"

Charles rose from his chair and kneeled in front of his king and long time companion. "With your majesty's permission."

Henry made a gesture urging the duke to continue. Charles reached for the king's hose.

Cromwell backed out of the king's antechamber, praying the he would not be heard or trip over anything. He couldn't believe what he had just seen and heard. Charles had hinted that the rebellion was his fault and the king had leapt to his defense, accusing Brandon of being jealous of him. Lastly, as he crept closer, he had seen the Duke of Suffolk on his knees with his head in the king's lap, doing those forbidden pleasures that he had fantasized about earlier. The king thoroughly enjoyed it, he could tell from his expression and the way he was running his hands through Brandon's hair. But it was of no consequence. Anything Brandon could do for the king, he could do better. Much, much, better.

As Cromwell hurried back to his room, he struggled with all the emotions that were running through his mind: intrigue and some satisfaction that his suspicions were confirmed and he was able to witness it. Jealousy, yes, jealousy that Brandon was being allowed access to the king's person which he coveted, and probably had for some time without realizing it. Is that why he had remained celibate for all these years? And lastly, and the most prevalent was _lust. _ For the second time today, his manhood was fully erect and demanding attention from him. He reached his apartments and dismissed his servants, to pleasure himself once again while images of his sovereign filled his head.

**Will Cromwell get a chance to prove himself to the king? Will Brandon find out Cromwell's ambitions? What is Bryan up to? Find out as **_**Faithful Servant **_**continues!**

**Note: Yesterday, July 28, was the 471sth anniversary of Cromwells unjustified execution of his most faithful servant.**

"_**I **__**mourn**____**Cromwell's**__** death. Yes, I mourn him! I mourn him, now that I perceive that my counsellors, by light pretext and by false accusations, made me put to death the most faithful servant I **__**ever**__** had."**_

**-Henry VIII a few months after Cromwell's execution.**

**Review for me please!**


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